Making up for Lost Time
by savedatlast
Summary: Realverse au/post s8; Dean wakes up to discover that he's missing some of his memory. Waking up next to his best friend complicates things a little. (aka the one where Dean breaks his brain and loses two weeks and it just happens to be the two weeks during which he and Cas get their shit together). Also Sam is constantly 1000% done with them.
1. Chapter 1

Dean opens his eyes. The room he's in is dimly lit, sunlight weakly filtering through the slats of the venetian blinds. He can just make out hideous floral wallpaper and a water-stained ceiling.

_Another 5-star motel room_, he thinks sarcastically. He can faintly hear cars passing by on the freeway outside.

He's lying on a bed, something warm and heavy pressed against his right side, but in his half-conscious state he doesn't find it that important. Mattress coils dig mercilessly into his back as he blinks the sleep away. He brings his left hand up to rub at his eyes and notices a thick white bandage covering the entire appendage from wrist to thumb.

He gawks at the makeshift cast for a moment before conscious awareness fully takes hold and he bolts upright. Bad idea. His head is swimming and there's a sharp pain radiating from his temples and he feels like he's going to be sick, so he lies back down.

He doesn't remember being injured – come to think, he doesn't remember much of anything right now. Last thing Dean can recall is heading down to Louisiana to take down a vamp nest with his brother and Castiel. He doesn't even remember catching up with the vamps. He feels almost hungover, but can't remember having a single drink. He stares at his bandaged hand for a while longer, wracking his brain, trying to chase down the lost time.

A soft murmur comes from the forgotten warmth to his right, startling him, and he just about falls off the bed. All he can see in the darkened room is a large, oddly shaped lump under the dingy floral comforter. With his good hand, he slowly pulls back the sheets and is greeted with a mess of dark hair, broad shoulders, and a lean, tanned back. He can't see the man's face but he doesn't need to. He knows exactly who it is.

Suddenly Dean is very aware of the fact that neither he nor Cas is wearing anything but boxers.

A barrage of questions attacks his sleep-slowed brain.

_Why is Cas in my bed?_

_What happened to my hand?_

_Why is there only one bed in the room? _

_Where's Sam? _

Before he has time to come up with an answer to any one of them, Cas turns over in his sleep and gives a quiet, content-sounding sigh. A faint smile graces his lips and his eyelids flutter briefly before he is pulled back into a deep sleep. His face and chest are flushed with warmth, wild hair sticking up at all angles. Dean watches as Cas' expression grows worrisome – even in sleep, his eyebrows furrow and a frown tugs at the corners of his mouth. Dean wishes the blissful smile would come back. He gets lost in the steady rise and fall of Castiel's chest as he breathes, forgetting for a moment the obvious question still pressing at the back of his mind.

The sound of a door slamming from somewhere outside snaps him out of his trance and he gingerly pulls himself into a sitting position, glancing at the clock on the right bedside table. It's nearly 6:30AM; Sam should be up by now. Dean wonders if he should go looking for him, but he doesn't know which room he's in and it's too early to go banging on doors, so he settles for at least getting out of bed so he can figure this whole thing out.

As he's about to swing his legs off the bed and start looking for his clothes, a strong arm wraps around his waist and tugs him closer. Cas' eyes are still closed but he's at least semi-awake, the frown on his heat-flushed face more pronounced.

"What time is it?" he grumbles.

His voice is even more gravelly first thing in the morning, Dean notes.

Dean is too stunned to reply, and Cas is forced to open his eyes, blinking blearily. He twists around to check the clock and groans when he reads the time.

"Don't even think about getting up yet," Cas demands, and he tugs Dean even closer. Dean is still terribly confused, but he doesn't know what else to do, and strangely, it feels like he belongs there, curled up tight next to Cas. In some deep, foggy corner of his mind, it feels like home. So he lies back down, the apprehensive part of his brain keeping him from doing what feels natural and tangling their legs together and snaking his arms around the ex-angel's waist.

He almost doesn't want to ask, but decides that, at this point, getting answers is more important than the awkwardness the question would surely create. "Cas?" he begins tentatively.

Castiel huffs and mumbles something inaudible. He tilts his face toward Dean's but his eyes stay closed, "Mmm?"

"This might sound... strange..." Dean tries to figure out the right way to pose the question delicately, "but, what... happened?"

Cas doesn't respond for a moment, as if waiting for the rest of the question. Then he blinks his eyes open and raises a brow.

"You're going to have to be more specific."

Dean already feels like an idiot, so he veers off and takes a different route. "What happened to my hand?"

Castiel's brows furrow again and he looks confused and adorably sleepy. He props himself up on an elbow, rubbing at his eyes, "Is this a joke? You know I'm not good with jokes, Dean."

Dean knows that much. He sits up slowly and holds up his bandaged hand, "I'm not joking, Cas."

Castiel looks at his hand like it's always been covered in a thick white bandage. Then realization dawns and he sits up quickly. His expression instantly becomes wary and alarmed, "You don't remember?"

Dean slowly shakes his head, green eyes staring at Cas' anxious blue ones and growing increasingly worried by the second. He feels his stomach do a backflip.

"When did this happen?" he asks, genuinely freaked out now.

Castiel looks apprehensive, "We should go get Sam..." He's avoiding Dean's eyes now.

"When, Cas?" he asks, a bit more harshly than intended, but he's legitimately freaking out.

"Four days ago," Castiel says, looking just as freaked as Dean feels.

"Four days," Dean echoes. His head is still pounding, but at least the room has stopped spinning.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Castiel asks, inching closer to Dean on the bed, kneeling now.

Dean searches his brain once more for any hidden clues, but none appear to be surfacing. He scratches absently at the back of his neck. "I remember driving down to Louisiana to air out a vamp nest, but that's about it."

Castiel's slightly horrified expression isn't at all comforting.

"Dean, that was over two weeks ago." Cas is staring at him, and then that spark of realization appears on his face again, and he backs up. Dean can feel his heart pounding all the way to the back of his throat. Another wave of nausea breaks over him.

Cas crawls off the bed and roots around for his clothes, pulling on his jeans before buttoning up a plaid shirt that looks like one of Dean's. "Get dressed, we need to talk to Sam."

Dean stands, looking around for his clothes. He spots his jeans on the floor by the end of the bed and tugs them on. He doesn't see a shirt anywhere.

"Here," Cas grabs a black t-shirt from a large duffle bag on the floor and tosses it over to him as he heads for the door.

"Cas, hold up a sec." Dean has one more question that he'd rather not ask in his brother's presence.

Castiel freezes, hand on the doorknob. Dean steps around the foot of the bed, stopping a few feet behind him. Castiel turns around, his bright eyes glowing in a shaft of sunlight. That concerned look hasn't left his face and it feels like a punch to the stomach.

Dean takes a deep breath, "When did..._this_" he gestures between them, "happen?"

Castiel averts his gaze to stare at a boring, generic lighthouse painting on the wall. He doesn't look like he wants to answer. Or maybe he thinks Dean doesn't want... whatever it is they have anymore, now that it's as if it never happened.

Dean takes a step closer. "Come on, Cas," he implores softly.

Castiel keeps staring at the painting, but answers. "Two weeks ago."

Shit. Though the room is still shrouded in semi-darkness, Dean can see Cas' pained expression clear as day and he hates that he's the one who put it there.

He shuffles one step closer, reaches out to put a hand on Cas' shoulder, then thinks better of it.

"I'm sorry, Cas." Dean leans against the wall and drags his hands down his face, wishing he could remember something. Anything.

"So that's it then?" Cas has turned his gaze back to Dean, but now it's less worried, more resigned.

Dean lets his hands fall to his sides and rights himself, "What?"

Cas turns and reaches for the door handle again. Dean closes the distance in two strides and shoves the half-opened door closed. "We're not done here."

Cas defiantly tugs on the doorknob again, but Dean doesn't budge.

"What else is there to say, Dean?" Cas drops his hand from the doorknob and takes a step back, clearly pissed but Dean can't figure why.

Dean takes a step as well. He tries to calm himself down, but it's not working very well. "I'm trying to figure this out, alright? I just woke up and found out I've lost two weeks." He runs a hand through his hair as Castiel stands before him, expression softening a bit.

"I know," Cas offers. He sits back down on the bed, head in his hands.

"Hey," Dean walks to the end of the bed and sits down beside him. "We'll figure it out.

Cas raises his head, "We?"

"Yeah," Dean can feel his throat tightening, and his stomach hasn't settled much. His head is still pounding, and he knows he should go get Sam soon, but he wants to make sure Cas understands first.

"I don't know how... _this_..." he gestured between them again, "us... happened," Cas is looking at him curiously and Dean swallows around the nervous lump in his throat. "But, way I see it, it was only a matter of time." As much as Dean would like to know what finally pushed them over the edge they'd been standing on for years, he's satisfied with the knowledge that eventually, something did.

Cas' face is near unreadable. He purses his lips, uncertain, but his eyes, once again shining in a ray of sun, are hopeful. He says nothing.

_Damnit,Cas. Don't you get it yet?_

Dean takes another deep breath, tries to keep his voice level, "I'm not gonna give it up just because I can't remember anything."

One corner of Cas' mouth curves upward into a smile, "So... you're okay with this?" Castiel doesn't gesture but Dean understands perfectly well to what he refers. And he is more than okay with it.

"Yeah, Cas." Dean grins, but when Cas still looks uncertain, he adds "Just, give me some time to get used to it again."

Cas nods, and tentatively reaches for Dean's un-bandaged hand, closing his own over it. "We'll figure it out." His smile widens, "Let's go see your brother."

Dean feels all the uneasiness he was harbouring about waking up next to his best friend dissipate. He turns his hand over to wrap his thumb and forefinger around Cas' wrist and gently tug him closer. "How about we try jogging my memory first?"

He leans forward and for the first time in his recollection, presses his lips to Castiel's.

* * *

Sam is awake, showered, and dressed by the time they arrive at his room, a little after seven.

They decide to wait to tell Sam until they're seated in a booth at a small diner a few blocks from the motel. Dean and Castiel slide into the cracked, orange vinyl bench on one side of the table, Sam takes the other. A waitress quickly comes to fill their coffee cups, they order breakfast, and then Dean drops the bomb.

"So you don't remember anything from the past two weeks?" Sam looks baffled and a bit scared, much like Cas did earlier, and it's really not helping Dean feel better about the situation.

He shakes his head. "Nada. I was in the car, you were driving to Lousiana and then I woke up in a motel in... where are we?" Dean looks out the window for clues.

"Tennessee," Cas interjects.

Sam just gapes at Dean. "So, nothing at all."

Sam's eyes dart to Cas, who flashes a quiet smile and says, "he knows."

Dean grins, having noticed the not-so-subtle exchange, "Yeah I think waking up in the same bed was a pretty solid clue."

Sam rolls his eyes, "Thanks for that. Better not ruin my breakfast."

"Is that a challenge?" Dean smirks.

Sam opens his mouth to form a retort.

"Could you two please focus on the more important matter at hand?" Cas glowers at both of them, and Dean can see his hand is shaking where he's tightly gripping the handle of his coffee mug.

"Hey," Dean carefully covers Castiel's hand with his own and pulls it away. He places both their hands under the table on the seat between them while his thumb traces slow, calming circles into Cas' palm. "Okay. So let's figure this out."

As they eat their breakfast, they fill Dean in on what's happened in the last fortnight. Cas spares Sam the details of their budding relationship, but Dean can get it out of him later. What he needs to know now is how he hurt his hand, and most importantly, why his memory decided to drop two weeks.

"We managed to take out the vamps, but you got knocked down a flight of stairs. You weren't waking up so we took you to a hospital, and you didn't wake up for three days." Sam suddenly looks haggard, like those three days drained him completely.

Dean feels Cas tense up beside him, wants to reassure him that he's fine, but he's not entirely certain of that himself.

"That was about a week and a half ago. The doctor wanted to keep you there for a few more days, said you'd damaged something pretty bad and there might be adverse effects down the road, but you refused." Sam throws his hands up in the air like 'what else is new'.

Castiel casts an admonishing glare at Dean, who shrugs weakly.

"After that we headed to Albuquerque to deal with a haunting. Standard salt and burn. Next day, caught wind of some demon activity, and now we're here." Sam finishes and shoves another forkful of eggs into his mouth.

Dean nods again, taking it in. One thing remains, though. "So what happened to my hand?"

Sam almost chokes on his eggs and fights back a smirk, "Your uh, thumb is broken."

Dean waits for him to elaborate, and when neither Sam nor Cas says anything he prompts, "Uh huh..."

Sam loses the fight and a sly grin breaks over his face, he looks pointedly at Cas, who pretends to be very interested in the scraps of food on his plate.

Dean looks from his brother, who seems like he's barely holding back laughter, to Cas, who is growing steadily more red and remains silent. "What?"

Sam finally pipes up, unable to contain himself, "Cas slammed the trunk lid on it." He abandons all efforts to conceal his laughter. Castiel gives Sam a smite-worthy glare but Dean finds himself laughing too.

Cas stops glaring at Sam long enough to turn remorseful eyes toward Dean. "It was an accident," Cas avows solemnly.

Dean grins and side-eyes his brother who's still laughing across the table. He lifts his good hand and wraps it around the back of Cas' neck to pull him in for a quick, hopefully reassuring kiss. Dean can hear his brother stop laughing and grumble 'really, Dean?' the second their lips touch and Dean continues to grin through the brief but tantalizing moment of contact. They hover in the space between for a beat after they part and Dean mumbles, "S'all good Cas."

From across the table, they hear Sam sigh impatiently and they sit back against the vinyl. Dean drops his hand, finding Cas' under the table and threading their fingers together.

"So what's going on with the demons?" Dean asks, smirking at Sam's perfect little brother scowl.

Sam sighs again, but this time it's a frustrated one, "Apparently nothing."

Dean stares, puzzled at his brother, "Then what have we been doing for a week?"

"Well we thought they might be some of Abaddon's followers. We tracked them down, managed to take 'em all out, but she never showed." Sam pulled his laptop out of his bag and brought up an article from a Denver newspaper claiming that a rash of missing persons reports were filed in the past 72 hours. "Now we're thinking they might've been a diversion."

Dean instantly enters business mode, "You think she's picking up some new recruits, getting ready for the big showdown?"

Sam nods, "Could be."

Dean had forgotten about the massive headache he'd woken up with, but now an intense wave of pain is raging through his head. He cringes and gasps, bringing the bandaged hand up reflexively to press against his forehead.

"Dean?" Cas has one hand on his shoulder, the other gently squeezing the hand it's holding.

Dean feels woozy. His vision goes blurry and the sound of his brother echoing his name is almost too muffled to make out. He catches one hazy glimpse of blue eyes before everything goes black.

* * *

When he comes to, Dean is back in the motel bed. He blinks his eyes open, his sluggish brain struggling to make out dark shapes in the yellowish lamplight. His head feels worse, if possible, and his body feels weak. He tries to sit up, but barely lifts his head before he feels a strong hand on his shoulder.

"Don't get up."

_Cas._

He tries to form a coherent sentence, along the lines of 'what happened' but his mouth is cottony and dry and he doesn't know if Cas understood.

"You passed out."

Dean nods, that much was obvious.

"Go back to sleep. I'll be here."

Dean slurs out an 'okay' as he can already feel sleep tugging at the barely conscious tendrils of his mind.

* * *

The next time he wakes up, he's much more lucid. It's pitch dark, save for the moonlight filtering through the blinds. His head still hurts, but his stomach appears to have settled down some. He's stripped down to his boxers again; Cas must have removed his clothes before tucking him back into bed. He gingerly tries to prop himself up his elbows, searching the darkened room for the other man. He spots him curled up in an armchair beside the bed, unable to tell if he's asleep.

"Cas," Dean calls out, voice scratchy and barely above a whisper. Nothing. He's about to try again when Cas stirs. He stretches and yawns, grumbling at the aches that come from sleeping in a chair.

Castiel finally notices Dean is awake and clambers off the chair, coming to sit on the side of the bed and hover over Dean. "How are you feeling?"

Dean's arms are shaking so he pushes himself up the bed a bit and rests on the pillows. "Better. Why're you sleepin' in a chair?"

Cas' face is illuminated by the moonlight filtering into the room, and Dean catches the hint of sadness that briefly shows before it's replaced with concern, yet again. As flattered as Dean is to have Cas looking out for him, the constant worrying is going to drive him crazy.

"I didn't want to rush you into anything." Cas stands and begins to turn away and Dean won't have that.

He slides over a bit and pulls back the sheets, reaching for Castiel's hand. "C'mere."

Cas hesitates, but complies, discarding his jeans and button-down before crawling into bed, facing Dean.

"You're not rushing me," Dean assures him.

Castiel nods. He lifts a hand to feel Dean's forehead. "You had a high fever earlier. Feels like it went down." He cards his fingers through the hunter's hair and brings his face within an inch of Dean's, allowing him to close the gap and kiss him softly.

When Dean tries to deepen the kiss, Castiel pulls away. "There's no way you'd have the energy for that."

Dean pouts unconvincingly, until Cas tangles their legs together and wraps an arm around his waist. "Go back to sleep. We'll talk in the morning."

* * *

Dean awakens the next morning to the sounds of Castiel bustling around the kitchenette preparing a makeshift breakfast. He feels much better, the pain in his head merely a dull reminder of what it had been. He's still weak, having not eaten anything in almost 24 hours. He manages to pull himself up to rest against the headboard, sheets pooling around his waist.

"Mornin'," he croaks.

Cas looks up from the counter where he's plating two slices of plain white toast. He carries the plate over and places it on the bedside table before sitting on the edge of the bed. "How's your head?"

"Better," Dean tells him, eyeing the plate.

Cas takes note and passes it to him and Dean gratefully takes a bite. It's bland, but it's food; something his body desperately needs. He continues to eat as Cas watches him, still with that fretful look on his face. Halfway through the second piece, Dean heaves a sigh.

"Would you stop looking at me like that? I'm fi—" he begins, but Cas cuts him off with a stern look.

"Don't say it," he warns. "You're not fine, Dean." He pulls the plate from Dean's hand and places it back on the table eliciting an affronted 'Hey!' from the hunter. He levels a serious stare at Dean, "and I'm worried about you."

Dean concedes, "I get it, Cas. I do. But I can't take you looking at me like I'm gonna break."

Castiel nods, tight-lipped and solemn and Dean's heart aches. He holds his arms open, and Cas lies down, resting his head over Dean's heart and laying a hand across his abdomen. Dean has one arm wrapped around his shoulder, the fingers of his other hand dragging lightly through Cas' hair.

They stay like that for a few minutes, each listening to the other breathe. Dean feels like he could fall asleep again, but then Cas breaks the silence.

"When you were unconscious in the hospital, I would often imagine I was lying on the bed with you like this."

Dean can't see his face, but there's an edge to his voice. He tightens his hold on Castiel a bit, "Why didn't you?"

Cas shrugged, "Your brother was always there. If he wasn't, it was hospital staff." The next line is almost too quiet for Dean to hear. "And I didn't know if you would have wanted me to."

"Sam wouldn't have minded," Dean supplies. "Pretty sure he's known longer than both of us."

"Yeah," Cas chuckles softly and Dean feels the vibration of it through his skin.

"I hated that I couldn't just heal you, like I used to," Cas' voice is low but Dean can hear the bitterness behind it. He knows his friend misses his grace, despite having adapted fairly well to humanity. He doesn't know what to say, just lets him continue.

"So for three days, all I could do was worry at your side," he huffs a half-hearted laugh. "Guess I'm still doing it."

"I'm not going anywhere." Dean reassures him, pressing his lips to the top of Cas' head. He never would have expected Cas to keep a constant vigil by his bedside, and he feels a tightness in his chest, like all the mixed emotions he's experiencing – regret, happiness, anxiety, _love_ – are going to burst through it.

He shoves them aside in favour of scratching another curious itch.

"So, how did we end up sharing a bed?"

Cas' face is still hidden, but Dean can feel the shy smile that graces his lips. "Well," he begins, his voice a bit strained, "when you finally came to, I was so happy and thankful and..." he hesitates.

"Yeah..." Dean prompts, a sly grin breaking across his face.

"I may have become a bit overwhelmed and... kissed you."

Dean doesn't need to see his face to know Cas is blushing like crazy. He laughs, and says, "Wow, Cas. That's... forward."

Castiel scoffs, "I don't recall you trying to stop me." He cranes his head back to throw an unconvincing glare at Dean, who laughs harder.

He gets a bit lightheaded and takes a few deep breaths to bring himself back down. "Wish I could remember that."

Cas shifts up until he's lying on his side next to Dean. He smiles, remembering the event. "I don't think your brother appreciated me doing it in front of him."

Dean chuckles, "Sammy can handle it." He grins at Cas, who grins back just as wide. "So that was it, eh? That's all it took?"

Cas nods, looking pleased with himself. He drags an absent finger up and down Dean's arm. "I could recreate it for you, if you'd like..."

Dean's easy smile drops and he nods eagerly. "Yes. Definitely yes."

Cas leans forward and stops an inch too far. "And then you're going to see a doctor."

Dean wants to protest, but as much as he hates hospitals, he can't bear to put Cas or his brother through this again. He nods his assent.

"Promise?" Cas pulls back a bit to look Dean directly in the eye.

Dean meets his gaze and even places a hand over his heart for good measure. "Promise."

Cas studies his face for a moment, looking for any signs of deception, and decides he's telling the truth. "Okay."

Dean is taken a little by surprise when Castiel closes the gap and pushes their mouths together with enough force to knock the headboard against the wall. Dean wraps an arm around Cas' waist and pulls him close. Cas brings his hand up to adjust the angle of Dean's jaw to his liking and then it's all tongue and teeth and Dean's growing a bit delirious.

A knock at the door regrettably breaks them apart. Sam calls to them from the other side. "You guys decent?"

Dean hoarsely yells "no" at the same time Cas yells "yes". They hear Sam heave another frustrated sigh and Cas crawls off the bed to open the door.

Sam enters the room, greets Cas, and drops his duffle on the floor beside the armchair. "How's your head?"

Dean is about to say "fine" when Cas gives him a stern look. "It's better today."

His stomach loudly protests the lack of food – the toast didn't really cut it – and he adds, "could do with some breakfast though."

Sam looks to Cas, who nods.

"We'll grab something on the way to the hospital. Can you stand?" Sam sets about gathering clothes that have been strewn around the room.

Cas helps Dean make it out of bed after he nearly falls over twice, and helps him get dressed while Sam checks them out of the hotel. A little before ten, they're packed and heading out.

Cas insists that he sit in the back with Dean despite his protests that he can sit up in the car easily enough on his own. Dean doesn't really mind though when Cas makes him lie down with his head in Cas' lap. He quickly dozes off again after a few minutes of nimble fingers running through his hair.

As Sam pulls into a drive-thru to grab some breakfast, he glances at the pair in the back seat. Cas, too, is sound asleep, head resting on the back of the bench, one hand still buried in Dean's short brown hair.

_Whatever happens_, he vows silently, _we'll figure it out._


	2. Prologue

**TWO WEEKS PRIOR**

Dean had been lying unconscious in a hospital bed in Louisianna for sixty-seven hours.

When Sam and Castiel walked through the ER doors, supporting him between them at about 10pm three days prior, they were eager to believe that everything would be fine.

An hour later, they hadn't heard anything and anxiety was starting to take hold. Shortly after that, a nurse told them there was nothing they could do but wait for him to regain consciousness, and he was admitted to a room.

Sixty-seven hours had passed since they walked into the room and began to wait. Castiel had been sitting in a rigid and uncomfortable guest chair for approximately fifty-nine of those hours. The other eight were intermittently spent on sleep back at the motel (at Sam's insistence) and brief walks to the cafeteria downstairs to replenish blood flow and buy food that he couldn't bring himself to eat.

He'd also taken to wearing an old green button-down of Dean's. He took it from his duffle, back at the hotel that first morning, about 6 hours after the ordeal. It wasn't much of a comfort, but it smelled like Dean and the colour kind of reminded him of his eyes and that was enough to keep him grounded, from freaking out too much. If Sam noticed, he didn't say anything. Castiel wouldn't have cared either way.  
He knew he was acting like a grief-stricken, lovesick idiot, rarely leaving Dean's bedside, wearing his clothes, but Sam never called him on it, and in fact, seemed to understand.

Sam spent a lot of time at the hospital as well and, despite doing his best to not look too worried in Castiel's presence, had a constant crease in his forehead and a tense set to his shoulders that gave him away. It was disheartening, waiting for something to happen and consistently seeing no change.

They whiled away the hours in relative silence, each with their own thoughts to keep them occupied. Whenever Sam left to sleep or get food, Castiel was left alone. The only things in his world were cream-coloured walls, the pervasive smell of sterility, and the steady hum and rhythmic beeping of the machines that told him Dean was still breathing. He latched on to those sounds like a beacon in the dark, the only things keeping him from feeling utterly lost.

He thought about climbing onto the bed with Dean just so he could feel his heart beating; another reassurance of his existence. He doubted any of the nursing staff would think it odd; some had even mistaken Castiel to be Dean's partner.

That is not the case, he would tell them. That would never be the case. He couldn't even muster the courage to hold his hand for support. So he continued to sit beside the bed and watch the steady rise and fall of the man's chest, heart threatening to stop every time it faltered. Doctors came and spoke with Sam, and Castiel tried to ignore them. They never brought good news. It was always "wait a bit longer", "we can't find out what's wrong until he wakes up" or "he might not wake up at all". The last one stuck him like a dagger in his chest every time. But he knew they were wrong. Dean always came back. Not even this conviction was enough to stop the slow influx of doubt and worry as the hours dragged on.

Sixty-eight hours and forty-seven minutes after being knocked unconscious, Dean opened his eyes. There was no warning, no sign that recovery had been close, he just blinked his eyes open and saw fluorescent lighting and a cork tile ceiling. When he very quickly became aware of the colossal headache raging through his skull, he reflexively lifted a hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose and found several plastic tubes attached to it.

Sam noticed the movement first. He sat bolt upright and closed the magazine he'd been reading. "Dean?"

Cas had been half-asleep, curled up in the uncomfortable chair that had been his home for the better part of three days. Upon hearing Sam's voice, he jolted awake, eyes flying wildly to the bed, where Dean was attempting to sit up.

He flew out of the chair and was at his side quicker than light.

"You're awake?" Cas could feel his chest brimming with an absurd amount of happiness and relief. The nagging concern and trepidation were still present, but they were background noise compared to the fanfare that erupted when he finally saw the emerald green irises of the hunter's eyes again. A broad smile broke across his face. Dean was staring at him with an air of wonder and slight confusion.

"Hey, Cas." His voice was scratchy from disuse; Castiel had been starting to think that he'd never hear it again. He felt like he was going to burst with the overwhelming amount of emotion filling him up, unfamiliar and exhilarating at once. He couldn't stop himself. He braced a hand on Dean's shoulder and Dean barely had time to rasp out "is that my shirt?" before Castiel dove down and captured his mouth in a frantic, impulsive, desperate kiss.

Dean briefly paused as his still painfully sluggish brain sorted out what was happening, and then he wrapped his arms as tightly as he could around Cas, pulling him down further until he had to half-crawl onto the bed to get to a workable angle. Off in the background they heard Sam call awkwardly "I'll just be out here then," before he ducked out of the room and closed the door behind him.

Dean still wasn't entirely sure what was going on, but Castiel was a giant ball of tension and relief and desperation, and it was both confusing and liberating. He certainly never expected this kind of reaction from him. Sure he'd hoped that one day they'd work out this _thing_ they'd been dancing around for years, but he didn't think it would happen so soon, and so exuberantly. Not that he's complaining.

Castiel was a bundle of nerves that was being unraveled fast, and while there was still an element of restlessness, the movements of his mouth were very deliberate. He was committing to memory every ridge, every corner, every sensation. He caught Dean's bottom lip between his teeth and when Dean sighed, he logged the reaction away and continued on, tongue swiping over the bite and delving in to continue mapping its territory. Dean was equally as enthusiastic, possessively laying claim to Castiel's lips, tongue, teeth, everything.

The nervous tension began to dissipate, and was replaced by a different kind of tension. They both seemed to realize that they could not continue down this road in a hospital bed with Sam outside the door, so they reluctantly slowed it down and broke apart.

They were both breathing heavily, Dean more so, as he was weakened to begin with. Cas carefully crawled off the bed, suddenly a bit embarrassed, though he was fairly certain he had no reason to be, given Dean's response. He tentatively reached out and took Dean's hand, pulling the chair closer to the bed and sitting down again, distractedly smoothing the edges of his shirt.

He could hear the grin in Dean's voice when he asked, "What was that for?"

Castiel raised his head and gazed serenely into the hunter's green eyes, "You came back."

Dean seemed a bit confused, but smiled, "I always do."

They heard a knock at the door, and Sam stuck his head in. "Safe to come back?"

Dean nodded and smiled at his brother, "Hey Sammy."

Sam approached the bed, and Castiel swore he saw a small, almost smug grin when he spotted their joined hands.

"Welcome back," Sam clapped him on the shoulder. The worried lines in his forehead hadn't smoothed out just yet, but he put on an easy expression.

Dean knew his brother, though, and easily detected the tension. "Jesus, how long was I out?" He glanced between Cas and his brother, who were exchanging apprehensive looks.

"Going on three days," Sam conceded.

Dean's eyes grew wide. "Well, shit." That explained some things.

The on-call nurse poked her head in, and smiled cordially when she saw Dean was awake. "Well good morning, Mr. Winchester."

She crossed the room, carefully ushering Sam out of the way to check the machines that were still humming and beeping. Then she turned to Dean. "How are you feeling?"

She was cute, long black hair pulled back in a pony, light hazel eyes soft and warm as she leaned over to check the glucose drip that was attached to his arm.

He could have turned on the charm, flirted shamelessly like he normally would, but the unmistakeable warmth of Cas' hand in his was more than enough reminder that he didn't need to anymore.

He shrugged, "Alright. Hungry, mostly."

The nurse – Sandra, according to her nametag – nodded, "As soon as we get this glucose IV out and run some quick tests you can take a look at the menu and order some food." She set about removing the needle from his arm. Dean felt Cas squeeze his hand a little tighter and he glanced over at his angel.

Cas was staring at the needle with a wary eye and Dean chuckled. The man shot him a damning look, but it quickly turned softer and he flashed a small smile.

Sandra piped up with a curious smirk as she noted a few things on Dean's chart, "Thought you two weren't a couple?"

Dean and Cas both blushed crimson as Sam barely stifled a laugh. Sandra looked at them all with a puzzled frown but didn't push further. She merely shook her head and excused herself to notify Dean's doctor that he was conscious.

Sam drew nearer the bed again to hover over Dean like a concerned mother hen. "How's your head?"

Dean had all but forgotten the searing pain that had faded to a dull throbbing. He could lie, but Sam would see through his bullshit. Always did. "Sore," he conceded.

The concerned forehead reappeared and Dean rolled his eyes, "I'm fine, man. When can I get out of here?"

Sam scoffed and was about to argue but Cas beat him to it. "You were unconscious for _three days_, Dean. Explain to me how that's in any way 'fine'."

Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Cas' eyes were fiery and he didn't want to risk pissing him off just minutes after their big revelation so he held his tongue.

Sam sighed, "We'll see what the doctor says."

Dean rolled his eyes again purely out of habit, caught a glimpse of the no-nonsense look on Cas' face and nodded.

Sam sat back down in his chair, flipped open his magazine and continued to browse.

A little while later, Sandra returned with a list of food options. Dean didn't spend very long deciding, soon as he saw 'pie' he ordered a slice. When she prompted him to choose a meal, he said he didn't care, so long as there was pie. She winked conspiratorially and left the room. Fifteen minutes later, Dean had an extra large slice of apple pie à la mode and a bowl of beef stew. He ate the pie first.

Cas borrowed one of Sam's books and read a few pages while Dean ate. Just as he finished, the door opened again and Sandra entered the room, followed by a blonde woman in a white coat.

"Mr. Winchester," she took his chart in hand, "I'm Dr. Galen." She wrote something on the sheet and passed the chart off to Sandra, who waved at them before scurrying out the door.

Dr. Galen remained at the foot of the bed. "I see you're sitting up just fine. Do you think you can stand?"

Dean nodded and pulled the sheets back, swinging his legs over the side of the bed with some effort. Cas was still holding tightly to his hand, and he was thankful for the leverage. The doctor seemed to notice, as she offered, "Your husband can help you if you need it."

Dean froze and his eyes flashed with a hint of panic and darted to Cas, who was mirroring his wary expression as they both pulled their hands back. Sam was silently shaking, hand covering his mouth as he raised his magazine higher.

Dean spluttered out, "N-no.. he-he's not—!"

At the same time Cas said, much more calmly, "We're not married."

Dr. Galen smiled graciously and said, "My mistake. Your_ friend_ can help you if you need it." The added emphasis on the word 'friend' led Dean to believe that she wasn't inclined to believe them. He rolled his eyes for a third time and, more forcefully than needed, grabbed Cas' hand to steady himself as he attempted to stand.

He wobbled for a moment before he caught his balance. He felt his knees threatening to buckle, legs weak and shaky. He hoped he looked solid enough on his feet that they would release him. Dr Galen didn't seem convinced. She watched closely as tiny tremors betrayed his weakened state.

Eventually, she said he could sit back down, which he gratefully did. Then she strode over, placing a light hand on his shoulder. "We're going to need to run some tests. We need to find out what area was affected. Is that alright?"

Dean reluctantly nodded. He hated the thought of being in here longer, but Sam was now casting his concerned puppy-dog face over at him, and Cas' grip on his hand was tight and he knew he wasn't going to be free without doing some tests.

Dr. Galen smiled briefly and walked to the door, stopping to let him know that she'd try her best to fit him in tomorrow morning.

Dean sighed heavily and swung his legs onto the bed, lying back down.

Sam stretched, yawning wide and rose from his chair. He grabbed his coat and the car keys and glanced half-expectantly at Cas, who shook his head.

Sam nodded once in understanding and turned to Dean, "I'm gonna head back and get some shut-eye for a few hours." He patted Dean's calf before heading out the door with a "see you in the morning".

Soon as Sam was gone, Dean slid over and patted the empty space on the tiny bed. Castiel shed his overshirt and shoes and gingerly climbed up. It creaked ominously, but seemed sturdy enough. Cas nudged his arm, indicating that he should turn around and Dean complied, rolling onto his side and scooting back into the warm body behind him. Cas slid an arm around his waist and pressed his forehead to the space between Dean's shoulder blades and they lay in silence for a long moment before deep, even breathing, heard over the steady hum and rhythmic beeping of machines told Cas that Dean had fallen asleep. He tightened his hold on the hunter and prayed to an absent father that they would wake up in the morning and all would be fine, as he finally allowed himself to succumb to the seductive call of a good night's sleep.


End file.
